“Mebbeso it’s because I’m cooled off, er mebby it’s because this short-legged boy is so danged sure that I kin turn the trick, anyhow, when I goes back into that gamblin’ house, I’m steady as a work ox.
“‘Whup him a plenty, Slim,’ whispers my new pardner, as we steps inside. ‘I’m standin’ at yore back till yore belly caves in. I’ll keep the gang off yuh. Whup him with yore hands.’
“Which I does. Sanchez goes fer his gun there on the table when he sees me comin’ but he’s slow and my bullet tears that fancy cannon loose from under his hand without hurtin’ him, though it plumb ruins that white handle with the notches. He unlimbers a knife as I clears the table but I weans him away from it pronto when my gun barrel ketches him across the wrist. Then I hands my smoke pole to my new pardner and proceeds tuh work Mister Snake Eyes over with my hands.”
Tad paused to light his cigaret. Kipp was again staring at his saddle horn.
“That fight wins me two things that night. One was Shorty Carroway, the gamest pardner a man ever had. The other was what book-learnt folks calls se’f-respect. Only fer Shorty, I’d uh killed that Sanchez from the dark that night and lost my right tuh call myse’f a man.”
Kipp shot Tad a covert glance, laden with suspicion. Did the cow puncher suspect him of lying in wait for Fox? But Tad’s homely features were guileless. They rode on in silence.
In telling this story, Tad felt that he was accomplishing two purposes. He was perhaps giving the nerve-racked sheriff a new grip on his ebbing courage and self-control. Likewise, he was explaining to his own conscience, his reason for breaking one of the unwritten laws of the cow country. The law that says a man shall tend to his own affairs and leave the affairs of his fellow men strictly alone.
Kipp busied himself with a sack of tobacco and brown papers. In the gray light of dawn, Tad watched the gnarled fingers of the sheriff, pouring the flaky tobacco into the paper. Those fingers were steady now.